


(if you want a lover) i'll do anything you ask me to

by an_ardent_rain



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_ardent_rain/pseuds/an_ardent_rain
Summary: She swallows. “Okay.” Carefully, with nervous fingers, she moves down past his jaw, over the soft skin on the column of his throat. And he lets her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this about four months ago or so, and posted it on tumblr, so the like five people who've read it may recognize it. BUT I CHANGED IT TO MAKE IT MORE COMPLIANT WITH ~NEW DEVELOPMENTS~ OMG I CAN'T EVEN HANDLE IT. 
> 
> Um. Ahem. Right. Anyway, I listen to "I'm Your Man" a lot when writing for these two. I actually have another fic that I wrote a while ago that I'll post later also titled with a lyric from that song. Guh. Anyway. Enjoy this, even though it's short and there's not really any context. 
> 
> I love this fandom, thanks guys.

There’s not enough room for both of them in her tiny bathroom - the experience is already going to be uncomfortably intimate, she doesn’t need to add unnecessarily close proximity to the list. So she pulls out a chair from her kitchen table and tells him to sit.

He does so, docile, without complaint. She folds a hand towel and puts it over his shoulders, snug against the back of his neck. There's too much hair to shave, so she takes a pair of scissors - the only pair in her apartment - and shears away the hair, close to the skin. She leaves the little tufts of hair on her kitchen floor, plans to sweep them up when she's done. She sets the scissors down and wipes her hands on her skirt. Time to start.

“You ever done this before?” he asks, watching her. Karen feels a tremor in her belly when she meets his eyes.

“No. I can’t imagine it’s much different from shaving my legs, though.”

She sprays a dollop of shaving cream into her hand. And hesitates - this is the part where she’ll actually have to touch him. He spreads his legs wide, making space for her between his knees. Her eyes fall to his crotch before she can stop herself and she traces the length of his fly, from where the denim stretches at the juncture of his legs up to where his jeans meet the folds of his shirt at his waist. He doesn’t say anything - maybe he didn’t notice, she hopes - and she rubs her hands together, smearing the blue gel into a white, lathery foam. She takes a deep breath.

Frank closes his eyes when her hand makes contact with his skin. His face is sun-roughened and it’s scratchy from the unkempt beard. She tries to ignore the feel of it as she smooths the cream over his cheeks.

“Do I need to get… How far down do I need to do your neck?”

He tips his head up and Karen’s heart rate triples when she sees his adam’s apple in the skin of his throat. Her hands are shaking, she’s sure of it. “Just look at where the hair’s growing. Get under my chin, that should be fine.”

She swallows. “Okay.” Carefully, with nervous fingers, she moves down past his jaw, over the soft skin on the column of his throat. And he lets her. He doesn’t seem nervous at all, relaxed and in control, even though he’s in one of the most vulnerable positions he could be in. Her fingers slide up and she touches the lobe of his ear. It’s accidental and it makes her flush. “Almost done,” she says, trying to cut some of the tension. Frank just grunts and it does nothing to make her feel more comfortable. She takes her thumb and carefully - she’s so careful, God, every last bit of her attention on her task - swipes over his upper lip. She touches his mouth despite her best efforts not to and the pad of her thumb tingles.

“Now take the razor,” he says, lowering his chin to look at her. “And finish up.”

“Right.”

She’d bought a pack of cheap disposable razors, and she opens it and takes one out. She’s not sure if she needs to hold his head steady, or if she should just choose a place and start. She bites her lip, puts the razor next to his ear, and drags it down as gingerly as she can. It makes a soft ‘swick’ sound that seems amplified in the quiet room. She takes another stroke and then dips the razor in the bowl of warm water she’d brought for rinsing. It’s easier once she gets going, once she focuses on her task. There’s heat between them, and the solid warmth of his body is too close to forget about. But it isn’t distracting her. She finishes the left side of his face and moves to the right.

She rinses the razor again and carefully shaves his upper lip. Christ, she thinks, he has a pretty mouth. She does his chin next and then pauses, staring at his neck.

“You’re doing fine,” he murmurs, his voice gentle. “Just go slow and don’t press down hard. You won’t hurt me.”

“Okay,” she breathes. She looks up, meets his eyes. Her whole body reacts, tightens, and she licks her lips before she can help herself. He looks up again and she rests her right index finger just under his jaw, uses her thumb to stretch the skin. She drags the razor down. It’s nerve-wracking, but it makes her feel powerful, too, that he trusts her enough to let her do this for him. She dips the razor and cuts another swath through the shaving cream on his neck.

He stays perfectly still until she’s done. She sets the razor in the bowl of water and goes to the kitchen sink. She wets a wash rag with cool water and goes back. She steps back into his space - his knees brush against her legs but she ignores it. She wipes his face and then pulls the towel from around his neck. She wipes him off. The corner of his mouth lifts and she glances up to meet his eye. He looks amused and she flushes and looks away.

“I don’t have aftershave or anything,” she says. She touches his cheek with the tips of her fingers. His skin is soft and smooth and she lets her hand linger. “I have, um, moisturizer if you want it, though. I can grab that if – “

“It’s fine,” he says. He grabs her wrist with a clumsy hand - but gentle, she thinks, he's being so goddamn gentle - and her fingers curl into a loose fist against his cheek. “Thank you.”

She swallows and tries not to think how close she is to him, how warm he is, how easy it would be to lean in. She looks at his mouth and then to where his hand is lightly gripping her wrist. Her heart beats hard and she says “You’re welcome.”


End file.
